Category Archives: Kiddos

Phoebe: I ate a granola bar.
Me, knowing that we don’t have any granola bars in the house: Where did you find the granola bar?
Phoebe: On the bottom of my shoe.
Me: stunned silence
Phoebe: It was good. It was very, very good.

The day before I met Eliza, I started having regular contractions around lunchtime. It was Sunday. My sister Grace had come to visit so that she could watch Phoebe while Eliza was born. I didn’t let Randy and Grace know about my contractions until the evening, when I started to not be able to ignore them.

“Guys, I’m having regular contractions that aren’t going away when I change position. I think tonight might be the night.”

They both whipped their heads around to stare at me with mouths hanging open.

We went to bed at our normal bedtime. I was excited, but wanted to make sure that I got rest in case I couldn’t sleep later during the night.

I had contractions all night long. Isaiah 40.11 played through my mind, over and over. I meditated upon the mental image this verse gave me. I imagined myself a ewe, being lead through each contraction. While I was laboring with Phoebe, I had wanted to lay on my back. This time, my side felt best, and I HAD TO HAVE my hand stuck underneath my pillow during the contractions, especially at the toughest parts.

Randy had come to bed with me, but his usual moving in his sleep bothered me too much during the contractions so he ended up on the floor. Oh! the things our men do for us! Even feeling the vibrations of the floor moving when someone walked around the room bothered me.

Around 2am, I told Randy that I thought it was time for the baby to come and we had better call the midwife. They got here and were here for a couple hours but I did not move closer toward having Eliza, even though my contractions were storng and closely timed.

It was at that point that I found out that I was only dilated to one cenimeter. When they told me that, I’m sure my eyes bugged out of my head. The contractions I was experiencing with Eliza were worse than the ones I had felt at the end of my labor with Phoebe.

I was given a shot of benadryl to try to relax my body. The midwife told me it would help me fall asleep. When I would wake up, then we’d know whether I was really in labor or not based upon whether or not I was still having contractions. They’d come back if I woke up and was still in labor.

People, I never fell asleep. Those contractions were so strong that, even though that benadryl made me feel like I could doze, I did not sleep five minutes.

At 6am, I couldn’t take laboring myself any longer and woke Randy up. I told him he better get that daggum midwife back over here before this baby popped out. Not my literal phraseology, but you get the idea.

The first one to show at the house was a medical assistant. She quickly came in and sat on the bed. BIG NO-NO. Then she proceeded to grab my hand, stroke it, and try to talk to me. EXTRA BIG NO-NO. I couldn’t get any words out, and just snatched my hand away while Randy politely told her that she should probably get off the bed.

Half an hour after the midwife showed up, I felt like I had to the go to the bathroom. One of the assistants lead me by the hand into the bathroom. I sat down, still contracting, and my water broke into the toilet. I let the assistant know and, in my labor-induced stupor, just sat there. I could tell that everyone was running around.

By this time, I had also realized that Grace and Phoebe were awake and were watching a movie in Grace’s room, across the hall from the bathroom.

The midwife, her two assistants, and Randy crowded into our little bathroom. I, of course, was still on the pot. The midwife coached me through pushing.

If you’ve never pushed a baby out, let me tell you that it is very surreal. For me, both deliveries felt about five minutes long. In reality, they were both about half an hour. But time seemed to speed by as all my focus was on getting the little nugget out into the world.

I remember looking up at Randy during labor. Eliza’s head had just started coming out. He was beaming at me and told me that I was doing a good job. That gave me the will and extra oomph to get her out the rest of the way. The midwife caught her and scooped her up to me.

Boy, was she big! That’s what I remember thinking! That, and, get me back to my bed.

They helped me back to the bed. Randy cut Eliza’s cord. There weren’t any issues with her or I. We just enjoyed the rest of the day and getting to know our new precious bundle.

It happened that, while I was in labor, my parents and sister, Priscilla, were on there way to our house to drop off Mom and pick up Grace. Perfect timing! They all got to meet Eliza on the day that she was born!

It was wonderful to have Eliza born in our home. It was less romantic and more real than I had anticipated it to be, but we got our girl. That’s what counts!

Phoebe is a mischievous, rambunctious little girl. She is full of curiosity and is terribly independent. She loves new experiences. She wants to do life her own way, without help.

In short, as my mother pointed out, she is a spitting image of me.

Because of her crazy, off-the-wall nature, I’ve found myself saying “no” to her requests or antics before I even evaluate whether or not they are constructive or destructive actions. It has become a habit. She’s also taken up this habit from my example and likes to throw “no” back at me any time I ask to do something that requires obedience.

I read an article that really convicted me. I have become a door-shutter in her life. Rebelliousness has rushed in where we could have peace and joyful compliance.

I don’t want to discourage curiosity and growth in Phoebe’s life. Actually, that is what I want to encourage more than anything else!

Since I realized that I was not opening doors of opportunity for her to learn and grow, I tried to make some changes.

1. I started watching her eyes. Paying attention to Phoebe’s eyes help me to gauge how she is feeling about the situation we are in. I noticed that when I smiled and was patient with her, she grew relaxed and a smile crept into her eyes. When I’m distracted and just trying to force my will on her, she gets a certain look on her face, almost like a glaze over her eyes. And I know I’ve lost her.

2. I evaluate before saying “yes” or “no.” Do I need to tell her “no” when tries to pick up knives out of the dishwasher? That would be a yes. But I can use this moment as an invitation as an opportunity for her to learn by giving her a chance to do something positive. She can pick up and hand me plates instead.

3. I create opportunities for her experience life and learn. The essence of homeschooling is that learning starts and ends in the home anyway. I’m now trying to imagine new ways of helping Phoebe learn, stay busy, and experience life in new ways. During each day, Phoebe helps me with household chores, but I’m going to try to have a new and fun activity for her each week. (Pinterest has given me lots of great ideas!)

I get about eighteen years to help this girl grow into the woman she will be. God gave me the responsibility to mold her until those qualities in her that can seem so negative now will become her greatest strengths.

The Lord has given me this great opportunity and will help me focus my energy on forming this child before she has the moral and mental capability to do it herself. What a profound task He has set before me!

But my mom helped turn my inflexibility, stubbornness, and bossiness into the positive leadership qualities I have today. May the Lord help me do the same with Phoebe!

Phoebe loves new experiences and is a very physical, tactile child. She likes to read, but she definitely enjoys learning through all five senses way more than just sitting and listening. She LOVED this craft!

The night before Phoebe was born, I could not fall asleep. Randy and I were up until 2am because I was so uncomfortable. Contractions had been coming off and on for about a week, so this pain was nothing new to me. They were not consistent, so we didn’t suspect that I was going into labor.

Around 6am, I could not stand lying in bed any longer, so I got up to do my normal exercise routine. When I moved into a squat, I felt a pop and my water broke.

Randy says when he came into the room after hearing me call him, he saw me standing over a small puddle, staring down. “Do you think my water broke, Randy?”

“Yes, I’m going to call the doctor. We’re going to the hospital now!”

“I’m not so sure. I’m not having contractions. I thought there would be more fluid. I don’t think it broke. Let’s not go.”

Anyway else experience denial in pregnancy?

Randy insisted we go to the hospital. He called my doctor to let her know we were on our way. She let us know that she wouldn’t be coming because she was at a wedding two hours away from the hospital. (Don’t get offended for me. In Kosova, this is a totally legitimate excuse, so we weren’t bothered by it. Much.)

About 20 minutes down the road, the contractions started coming hot and heavy, every three minutes apart. We learned later that my doctor had called ahead to the hospital and told them we were on our way, but that we were first-time parents and didn’t know what we were doing so I wasn’t really in labor. Wasn’t that doctor surprised when I had to be wheeled into the hospital and was already dilated to a four!

We got situated in a room and, after two hours, the doctor let us know that I was dilated to an eight. He told me in English, “Tell your husband to let us know when you feel the urge to defecate.”

The next two hours I went into what Randy calls a Jedi mind trance as I focused on letting my body open up to let the baby out. During this time, I wanted Randy in the room with me but was very insistent that he not talk to me, touch me, and definitely not text anyone or take any calls. Poor Randy. It was a boring two hours for him.

After those two hours, I woke up out of my trance, feeling very uncomfortable. Randy helped me try out a couple different positions: standing, squatting, leaning on him. Finally, I just asked to sit on the toilet. That did it for me. I felt the urge to push (or defecate, as the doctor so delicately put it). It was time!

I forgot to tell you that we were informed upon admission that the hospital’s air conditioning had broken down the day before. It was the beginning of August, hot and humid. I was so uncomfortable during contractions that I declined to wear any clothing, including the hospital gown that was provided.

Now, they needed to wheel me onto the elevator and up another floor to get to labor and delivery. I was ready to get that girl out, acting extremely bossy, and not allowing the nurses to cover me up. Yep, one new father sure got an eyeful as they wheeled me down the hallway.

It turned out to be a big blessing that my regular doctor hadn’t showed for the birth. The doctor on call was great, spoke English very well, and coached me through a smooth, natural delivery. My baby girl was born, and Randy and I became parents.

I remember that it was raining outside while she was being delivered. After she was born, I felt a great sense of satisfaction at doing the hard work of delivery. It was cooling off because of the rain, and we spent all evening enjoying the reward after being patient for nine months, snuggling with our brand-new baby doll.